WOMEN  KIND 


WILFRID  WILSON  GIBSON 


I 


Womenkind 


Womenkind 


By 

Wilfrid  Wilson  Gibson 

Author  of  "Daily  Bread,"  etc. 


New  York 

The  Macmillan  Company 

1912 

All  Rights  Reserved 


Copyright  191 2 
By  The  Macmillan  Company 


Set  up  and  Electrotyped 
Published  April,  iqi2 


This  play  was  produced  by  the  Pilgrim  Players 
Series  on  Saturday,  February  i^th,  19 12,  and 
all  dramatic  rights  are  reserved  by  the  Author. 


PERSONS 

Ezra  Barrasford,  an  old  blind  shepherd. 
Eliza  Barrasford,  his  wife. 
Jim  Barrasford,  their  youngest  son. 
Phcebe  Barrasford,  Jim's  bride. 
Judith  Ellershaw. 


SCENE.  The  living-room  at  Krindle- 
syke,  a  lonely  cottage  on  the  fells.  Ezra, 
blind,  feeble-minded,  and  decrepit,  sits 
in  an  armchair  near  the  open  door. 
Eliza  Barrasford  is  busy  near  the  hearth. 


Womenkind 


ELIZA  [glancing  at  the  clock]  : 

It  's  nearly  three. 

They  '11  not  be  long  in  being  here. 

Ezra: 

What  's  that? 

Eliza  : 

You  're  growing  duller,  every  day. 
I  say  they  '11  not  be  long  now. 

Ezra: 

Who  '11  not  be  long? 

Eliza  : 

Jim  and  his  bride,  of  course. 

Ezra: 

His  bride? 

Eliza  : 

Why,  man  alive,  you  never  mean  to  tell  me 
That  you  Ve  forgotten  Jim  's  away  to  wed ! 
You  're  not  so  dull  as  that. 


2  WOMENKIND 


Ezra: 

We  cannot  all  be  needles. 

I  'm  dull,  at  times  .  .  . 

Since  blindness  overtook  me. 

While  yet  I  had  my  eyesight, 

No  chap  was  cuter  in  the  countryside. 

My  wits  just  failed  me,  once  .  .  . 

The  day  I  married  .  .  . 

And  Jim  's  away  to  wed,  is  he? 

I  thought  he  'd  gone  for  turnips. 

He  might,  at  least,  have  told  his  dad  .  .  . 

Though,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it, 

I  do  remember  hearing  something  .  .  . 

It 's  Judith  Ellershaw  that  he  's  to  marry. 

Eliza  : 

No!  No!  You  're  dull,  indeed! 

It  's  Phoebe  Martin  Jim  's  to  marry. 

Ezra  : 

Who  's  Phoebe  Martin? 
I  know  naught  of  her. 

Eliza  : 

And  I  know  little,  either. 

She  's  only  been  here,  once  .  .  . 

And  now,  she  '11  be  here,  always. 

I  '11  find  it  strange,  at  first, 

To  have  another  woman  in  the  house. 


WOMENKIND 


But,  I  must  needs  get  used  to  it. 

Your  mother,  doubtless,  found  it  strange 

To  have  me  here,  at  first  .  .  . 

And  it 's  been  long  enough  in  coming. 

Perhaps,  that  makes  it  harder. 

But,  since  your  mother  died, 

And  she,  poor  soul,  she  did  n't  last  too  long 

After  you  brought  me  home  with  you  .  .  . 

She  did  n't  live  to  see  a  grandchild  .  .  . 

I  wonder,  now,  if  she  .  .  . 

And  yet,  I  spared  her  all  I  could  .  .  . 

Aye !  that  was  it,  for  certain ! 

Poor  soul,  she  could  not  bear  to  see 

Another  woman  do  her  work; 

And  so,  she  pined  and  wasted. 

If  only  I  had  known ! 

Since  she  was  carried  out, 

There  's  scarce  a  woman  crossed  the 

threshold. 
No  other  woman  's  slept  the  night 
At  Krindlesyke  for  forty  years  .  .  . 
Just  forty  years  with  none  but  menfolk ! 
A  queer  life,  when  you  think  of  it. 
Well,  well,  they  Ve  kept  me  busy,  doing  for 

them. 
And  there  's  few  left  now, 
Only  you  and  Jim  ... 


WOMENKIND 


And  now,  Jim's  bride  .  .  . 

Another  woman  comes  ... 

And  I  must  share  with  her. 

I  dare  say  that  we  '11  manage  well  enough : 

She  seemed  a  decent  lass, 

When  she  was  here,  that  once  .  .  . 

Though,  there  was  something  in  her  eyes 

I  could  n't  quite  make  out. 

She  hardly  seemed  Jim's  sort,  somehow. 

I  wondered  at  the  time  .  .  . 

But,  who  can  ever  tell  why  women  marry? 

Still,  Jim  will  have  his  hands  full, 

Unless  she  's  used  to  menfolk. 

I  never  saw  her  like  .  .  . 

She  '11  take  her  own  way  through  the  world, 

Or  I  am  sore  mistaken : 

Though,  she  seemed  fond  enough  of  Jim. 

He  's  handsome  .  .  .  yet  .  .  . 

It  's  hard  to  say  why  such  a  girl  as  she  .  .  . 

Ezra: 

Tut !  tut !  girls  take  their  chance. 

And  Jim  takes  after  me,  they  say. 

If  he  were  only  half  as  handsome 

As  I  was  at  his  age  .  .  . 

You  know  yourself  .  .  . 

You  did  not  need  much  coaxing. 


WOMENKIND 


Eliza  : 

Well  .  .  .  doubtless,  she  knows  best  . 
And  you  can  never  tell  .  .  . 

Ezra: 

Where  does  she  hail  from? 

Eliza  : 

Somewhere  Bentdale  way. 

Jim  met  her  at  the  Fair,  a  year  ago. 

Ezra: 

I  met  you  at  the  Fair. 

Eliza  : 

Aye,  fairs  have  much  to  answer  for  .  . 
But,  she  was  not  my  sort. 
And  yet,  she  's  taken  Jim  .  .  . 

Ezra: 

I  thought  't  was  Judith  Ellershaw. 

Eliza  : 

No !  No !  I  'm  glad  that  it  's  not  Judith. 
Jim  fancied  her,  at  one  time ; 
But  Jim  's  had  many  fancies. 
He  never  knew  his  mind. 

Ezra: 

Aye,  Jim  is  gay,  is  gay ! 

And  I  was  gay,  when  I  was  young. 

And  Jim  .  .  . 


WOMENKIND 


Eliza  : 

Aye:  Jim  's  his  father's  son. 

'T  was  well  that  went  no  further : 

For  Judith  flitted  one  fine  night  .  .  . 

'T  was  whispered  that  her  father  'd  turned 

her  out. 
He  's  never  spoken  of  her  since, 
Or  so  his  neighbours  say  .  .  . 
And  no  one  's  heard  a  word  of  her. 
I  never  liked  the  lass  .  .  . 
She  'd  big  cow-eyes  .  .  . 
There  's  little  good  in  that  sort : 
And  Jim  's  well  quit  of  her. 
He  '11  never  hear  of  her  again. 
That  sort  .  .  . 

Ezra: 

I  liked  the  wench. 

Eliza  : 

Aye !  you  're  Jim's  father. 

It 's  well  he  's  settling  down,  at  last. 

He  's  wild,  like  all  the  others  .  .  . 

Sometimes  I  've  feared  he  'd  follow  them  .  .  . 

Six  sons,  and  only  one  at  home, 

And  he  the  youngest  of  the  bunch, 

To  do  his  parents  credit ! 

The  others  all  .  .  . 


WOMENKIND 


But,  now  Jim  *s  married,  he  may  settle  down. 

If  you  'd  not  married  young, 

God  knows  where  you  'd  have  been  to-day. 

Ezra  : 

God  knows  where  you  'd  have  been, 
If  we  'd  not  met,  that  Fair  day! 
I  'd  spent  the  last  Fair  with  another  girl — 
A  giggling,  red-haired  wench— 
And  we  were  pledged  to  meet  again. 
And  I  was  waiting  for  her,  when  I  saw  you. 
But,  she  was  late  .  .  . 
And  you  were  young  and  bonnie  .  .  . 
Aye,  you  were  young  and  pink  .  .  . 
There  's  little  pink  about  you  now,  I  'm 
doubting. 

Eliza  : 

Nay!  forty  years  of  Krindlesyke,  and  all  .  .  . 

Ezra: 

If  she  'd  turned  up  in  time,  young  Carroty, 
You  'd  never  have  clapped  eyes  on  Krindle- 
syke: 
This  countryside  and  you  would  still  be 
strangers. 

Eliza  : 

If  she  'd  turned  up  .  .  . 


WOMENKIND 


She  'd  lived  at  Krindlesyke,  instead  of  me. 
This  forty  year  .  .  .  and  I  ...  I  might  .  .  . 
But,  what  's  to  be,  will  be : 
And  we  must  take  our  luck. 

Ezra: 

I  'm  not  so  sure  that  she  'd  have  seen  it  either : 
Though  she  was  merry,  she  'd  big  rabbit- 
teeth 
That  might  be  ill  to  live  with  .  .  . 
Though  they  'd  have  mattered  little,  now 
Since  I  am  blind  .  .  . 
And  she  was  always  merry  .  .  . 
While  you  .  .  .  but  you  were  young  .  .  . 

Eliza  : 

And  foolish ! 

Ezra: 

Not  so  foolish  .  .  . 

For  I  was  handsome  then. 

Eliza  : 

Aye :  you  were  handsome,  sure  enough : 
And  I  believed  my  eyes,  in  those  days, 
And  other  people's  tongues. 
There  's  something  in  a  young  girl  seems  to 

fight 
Against  her  better  sense, 


WOMENKIND 


And  gives  her  up,  in  spite  of  her. 
Yes,  I  was  young ! 

And  just  as  foolish  then  as  you  were  hand- 
some. 

Ezra: 

Well,  fools,  or  not,  we  had  our  time  of  it : 
And  you  could  laugh  in  those  days  .  .  . 
And  did  not  giggle  like  the  red-haired  wench, 
Your  voice  was  like  a  bird's  .  .  . 
But,  you  laugh  little,  now  .   .   . 
And  Lord !  your  voice  .  .  . 
Well,  still  it  's  like  a  bird's,  maybe, 
For  there  be  birds,  and  birds- 
There  's  curlew,  and  there  's  corncrake. 
But  then,  't  was  soft  and  sweet. 
Do  you  remember  how,  nigh  all  day  long, 
We  sat  together  on  the  roundabout  ? 
I  must  have  spent  a  fortune  .  .  . 
Besides  the  sixpence  that  I  dropped  .  .  . 
For  we  rode  round  and  round, 
And  round  and  round  again : 
And  music  playing  all  the  while. 
We  sat  together  in  a  golden  carriage ; 
And  you  were  young  and  bonnie : 
And  when,  at  night,  't  was  lighted  up, 
And  all  the  gold,  aglitter, 


io  WOMENKIND 

And  we  were  rushing  round  and  round, 
The  music  and  the  dazzle  .  .  . 

Eliza  : 

Aye !  that  was  it,  the  music  and  the  dazzle 
The  music  and  the  dazzle,  and  the  rushing 
Maybe,  't  was  in  a  roundabout 
That  Jim  won  Phoebe  Martin. 

Ezra: 

And  you  were  young  .  .  . 

Eliza  : 

And  I  was  young. 

Ezra: 

Aye,  you  were  young  and  bonnie : 
And  then,  when  you  were  dizzy  .  .  . 

Eliza  : 

Yes,  I  was  dizzy  .  .  . 

Ezra: 

You  snuggled  up  against  me  .  .  . 
I  held  you  in  my  arms  .  .  . 
And  warm  against  me  .  .  . 
And  round  we  went  .   .  . 
With  music  playing  .  .  . 
And  gold,  aglitter  .  .  . 
The  music  and  the  dazzle  .  .  . 


WOMENKIND  n 

Eliza  : 

And  there  's  been  little  dazzle,  since,  or  music. 

Ezra: 

Aye :  I  was  gay,  when  I  was  young, 
Gay,  till  I  brought  you  home. 

Eliza  : 

You  brought  me  home  ? 

You  brought  me  from  my  home. 

If  I  'd  but  known  before  I  crossed  the 

threshold, 
If  I  'd  but  known  .  .  . 
But  what 's  to  be,  will  be. 
And  now,  another  bride  is  coming  home, 
Is  coming  home  to  Krindlesyke  .  .  . 
God  help  the  lass,  if  she  .  .  . 
But  they  will  soon  be  here. 
Their  train  was  due  at  Mallerford  at  three. 
The  walk  should  take  them  scarce  an  hour, 
Though  they  be  bride  and  bridegroom. 

Ezra: 

I  wish  that  Jim  had  married  Judith. 
I  liked  the  lass. 

Eliza  : 

You  liked  .  .  . 

But,  come,  I  '11  shift  your  chair  outside, 


12  WOMENKIND 

Where  you  can  feel  the  sunshine ; 

And  listen  to  the  curlew ; 

And  be  the  first  to  welcome  Jim  and  Phoebe. 

Ezra: 

Wife,  are  the  curlews  calling? 

Eliza  : 

Aye :  they  Ve  been  calling  all  day  long, 
As  they  were  calling  on  the  day, 
The  day  I  came  to  Krindlesyke. 

Ezra: 

I  Ve  never  caught  a  note. 

I  'm  getting  old, 

And  deaf,  as  well  as  blind. 

I  used  to  like  to  hear  the  curlew, 

At  mating-time,  when  I  was  young  and  gay. 

And  they  were  whistling  all  about  me 

That  night,  when  I  came  home  .  .  . 

The  music  and  the  dazzle  in  my  head, 

And  you  and  all  .  .  . 

And  yet  I  heard  them  whistling  .   .  . 

But  I  was  young  and  gay ! 

And  you  were  plump  and  pink  .  .  . 

And  I  could  see  and  hear  .  .  . 

And  now ! 
Eliza  : 

And  now,  it 's  Jim  and  Phoebe— 


WOMENKIND  13 

The  music  and  the  dazzle  in  their  heads— 
And  they  '11  be  here  in  no  time. 

Ezra: 

I  wish  he  'd  married  Judith. 

[Ezra  rises;  and  Eliza  carries  out  his  chair, 
and  he  hobbles  after  her.  She  soon  returns; 
and  begins  to  sweep  up  the  hearth;  and  then 
puts  some  cakes  into  the  oven,  to  keep  hot. 
Presently,  a  step  is  heard  on  the  threshold; 
and  Judith  Ellershaw  stands  in  the  door- 
way, a  baby  in  her  arms.  Eliza  does  not 
see  her,  for  a  moment;  then  looks  up,  and 
recognizes  her  with  a  start.] 

Eliza  : 

You,  Judith  Ellershaw ! 
I  thought  't  was  Jim  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

You  thought  't  was  Jim  ? 

Eliza  : 

Aye ;  Jim  and  .  .  .  [breaks  off.] 

Where  Ve  you  sprung  from,  Judith? 

It 's  long  since  you  Ve  shown  face  in  these 

parts. 
I  thought  we  'd  seen  the  last  of  you. 
I  little  dreamt  .  .  . 
And,  least  of  all,  to-day  I 


14  WOMENKIND 

Judith  : 

To-day  ?    And  should  I  be  more  welcome 
On  any  other  day? 

Eliza  : 

Welcome  ?    I  hardly  know. 
Your  sort  is  never  overwelcome 
To  decent  folk  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

I  know  that  well. 

That  's  why  I  Ve  kept  away  so  long. 

Eliza  : 

You  Ve  kept  away? 

But  you  were  little  here,  at  any  time. 

I  doubt  if  your  foot  soiled  the  doorstep 

A  dozen  times,  in  all  your  life. 

And  then,  to  come  to-day,  of  all  days— 

When  Jim    .    .    .     [breaks  off  suddenly.] 

Judith  : 
When  Jim  ? 

Eliza  : 

But,  don't  stand  there  .  .  . 

You  Ve  looking  pale  and  tired  .  .  . 

It 's  heavy,  walking  with  a  baby. 

Come  in,  and  rest  a  moment,  if  you  Ve  weary. 


WOMENKIND  15 

You  cannot  stay  here  long : 

For  I  'm  expecting  .  .  .  company. 

And  you,  I  think,  will  not  be  over  eager  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

I  'm  tired  enough,  God  knows ! 
We  '11  not  stay  long,  to  shame  you ; 
And  you  can  send  us  packing, 
Before  your  company  arrives. 

[She  comes  in;  and  seats  herself  near  the 
door.  Eliza  busies  herself  in  laying  the  ta- 
ble for  tea:  and  there  is  silence  for  a 
while.] 

Judith  : 

And  so,  Jim  's  gone  to  fetch  the  company? 

Eliza  : 

Aye :  Jim  has  gone  .  .  . 

[She  breaks  off  suddenly;  and  says  no  more 
for  a  while.  Presently,  she  goes  to  the 
oven;  and  takes  out  a  piece  of  cake,  and 
butters  it,  and  hands  it  to  Judith.] 

Eliza  : 

Perhaps,  you  're  hungry,  and  could  take  a  bit. 

Judith  : 

Aye ;  but  I  'm  famished  .  .  .  Cake ! 
We  're  grand  to-day,  indeed ! 
It  's  almost  like  a  wedding. 


16  WOMENKIND 

Eliza  : 

A  wedding,  woman ! 
Cannot  folk  have  cake, 
But  you  must  talk  of  weddings  ? 
And  you  of  all  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

I  meant  no  harm. 

I  thought,  perhaps,  that  Jim  .  .  . 

But,  doubtless,  he  was  married  long  ago? 

[Her  baby  begins  to  whimper;  and  she  tries 
to  hush  it  in  an  absent  manner.~\ 

Hush !  hush !  my  lass. 

You  must  not  cry, 

And  shame  the  ears  of  decent  folk. 

Eliza  : 

Why,  that  's  no  way  to  soothe  it ! 

Come,  give  the  child  to  me : 

I  '11  show  you  how  to  handle  babies. 

Judith  : 

And  you  would  nurse  my  child ! 

ELIZA    [taking  it  in  her  arms]  : 

A  babe  's  a  babe  .  .  . 

Aye,  even  though  its  mother  .  .  . 

[She  breaks  off  suddenly,  and  stands  gazing 
before  her,  holding  the  baby  against  her 
bosom.] 


WOMENKIND  17 

Judith  : 

Why  don't  you  finish,  woman  ? 

You  were  saying  .  .  . 

"Aye,  even  though  its  mother  .  .  .  " 

ELIZA     [slowly,  gazing  before  her  in  a  dazed  manner]: 

Nay,  lass ;  it 's  ill  work,  calling  names. 

Poor  babe,  poor  babe ! 

It  's  strange  .  .  .  but,  as  you  snuggled  to  my 

breast, 
I  thought,  a  moment,  it  was  Jim 
I  held  within  my  arms  again. 
I  must  be  growing  old  and  foolish 
To  have  such  fancies  .  .  .  still  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

You  thought  that  it  was  Jim, 
This  bastard  .  .  . 

Eliza  : 

Shame  upon  you,  woman, 
To  call  your  own  child  such ! 
Poor  innocent  .  .   .  and  yet  .  .  . 
OJim!    OJim! 

Judith  : 

Why  do  you  call  on  Jim  ? 
He  has  n't  come  yet? 


18  WOMENKIND 

But  I  must  go,  before  .  .  .    [rising] 
Give  me  the  child. 

ELIZA   [facing  her,  and  withholding  the  babe]  : 

Nay !  not  until  I  know  the  father's  name. 

Judith  : 

The  father's  name? 

What  right  have  you  to  ask  ? 

Eliza  : 

I  hardly  know  .  .  .  and  yet  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

Give  me  the  child. 

You  '11  never  have  the  name  from  my  lips. 

Eliza  : 

0  Jim!      O  Jim  [giving  back  the  child]. 

Go,  daughter,  go,  before  .  .  . 
Oh,  why  'd  you  ever  come, 
To-day,  of  all  days ! 

Judith  : 

To-day?    Why  not  to-day 

As  well  as  any  other? 

Come,  woman,  I  'd  know  that  before  I  go. 

1  Ve  half  a  mind  to  stay  till  Jim  .  .  . 

Eliza  : 

Nay,  daughter,  nay! 


WOMENKIND  19 

You  said  that  you  would  go ; 
You  know,  you  said  .  .  . 

JUDITH   \_sitting  down  again]  : 

Perhaps,  I  Ve  changed  my  mind. 
I  liked  the  cake ;  and,  maybe,  if  I  stay, 
There  '11  be  some  more  of  it. 
It  is  n't  every  day  .  .  . 

Eliza  : 

Judith,  you  know ! 

Judith  : 

Nay;  I  know  nothing- 
Only  what  you  tell  me. 

Eliza  : 

Then  I  will  tell  you  everything. 
You  '11  never  have  the  heart  to  stay  .  .  . 
The  heart  to  stay,  and  shame  us, 
When  you  know  all. 

Judith  : 

When  I  know  all  ? 

Eliza  : 

Lass,  when  you  talked  of  weddings, 

You  'd  hit  upon  the  truth : 

And  Jim  brings  home  his  bride,  to-day. 


20  WOMENKIND 

Judith  : 

And  Jim  brings  home  his  bride  .  .  . 

Eliza  : 

Aye,  lass ;  you  would  not  stay  .  .  ♦ 

Judith  : 

And  Jim  brings  home  his  bride  .  .  . 

Eliza  : 

They  '11  soon  be  here  .  .  . 
I  looked  for  them,  ere  now. 
But,  you  Ve  still  time  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

The  bride  comes  home : 

And  you  and  I  must  take  the  road, 

My  bonnie  babe,  my  little  lass, 

Lest  she  should  blush  to  see  us. 

We  're  not  a  sight  for  decent  folk, 

My  little  lass,  my  bonnie  babe, 

And  we  must  go  .  .  . 

The  bride  comes  home  to-day  .  .  . 

We  Ve  no  fit  sight  for  fair  young  brides, 

Nor  yet  for  gallant  bridegrooms. 

If  we  should  meet  them  on  the  road, 

You  must  not  cry  to  him  .  .  . 

I  must  not  lift  my  eyes  to  his  .   .   . 


WOMENKIND  21 

We  're  naught  to  him,  the  gallant  bride- 
groom. 

And  she  might  hear  your  cry  .  .  . 

The  bonnie  bride  ... 

Her  eyes  might  meet  my  eyes  .  .  . 

Your  cry  might  tell  her  heart  too  much : 

My  eyes  might  show  her  heart  too  much  .  .  . 

Some  bush  must  hide  our  shame,  till  they 
are  by, 

The  bonnie  bride  and  bridegroom, 

If  we  should  meet  them  on  the  road, 

Their  road,  and  ours  .  .  .  the  road  's  the 
same, 

Though  we  be  travelling  different  ways. 

The  bride  comes  home,  the  bride  comes 
home,  to-day  .  .  . 

And  you  and  I  must  take  the  road. 

Eliza  : 

Aye,  lass ;  there  's  nothing  else  for  it. 

Judith  : 

There  's  nothing  else  ? 

Eliza  : 

Nay,  lass !    How  could  you  stay  now? 

They  '11  soon  be  here  .  .  . 

But,  you  '11  not  meet  them,  if  you  go  .  .  . 


22  WOMENKIND 

Judith  : 

Go  .  .  .  where? 

Eliza  : 

And  how  should  I  know  where  you  're  bound 

for? 
I  thought  you  might  be  making  home. 

Judith  : 

Home  .  .  .  home  .  .  .  and  where  's  my 

home- 
Aye  !  and  my  child's  home,  if  it  be  not  here? 

Eliza  : 

Here,  daughter!    You  'd  not  stay  .   .  . 

Judith  : 

Why  not  .  .  .  have  I  no  right  ?  .  .  . 

Eliza  : 

If  you  '11  not  go  for  my  sake, 
Go,  for  Jim's. 

If  you  were  ever  fond  of  him, 
You  would  not  have  him  shamed. 

Judith  : 

And,  think  you,  woman,  I  'd  be  here, 
If  I  had  not  been  fond  .  .  . 
And  yet  why  should  I  spare  him? 
He  's  spared  me  little. 


WOMENKIND  23 

Eliza  : 

But,  think  of  her,  his  bride, 
And  her  home-coming ! 

Judith  : 

Aye  .  .  .  I  '11  go. 

God  help  her,  that  she  never  suffer, 
As  I  have  suffered  for  your  son. 
Jim !    Jim ! 

Eliza  : 

You  lose  but  little,  daughter. 

I  know,  too  well,  how  little, 

For  I  Ve  lived  forty  years  at  Krindlesyke. 

Judith  : 

Maybe,  you  never  loved  .  .  . 
And  you  don't  know  the  road  .  .  . 
The  road  I  Ve  come, 
The  road  that  I  must  go  .  .  . 
You  Ve  never  tramped  it  .  .   . 
God  send  it  stretch  not  forty  years ! 

Eliza  : 

I  Ve  come  that  forty  years. 

We  Ve  out  upon  the  same  road,  daughter, 

The  bride,  and  you,  and  I  .  .   . 

And  she  has  still  the  stoniest  bit  to  travel. 

We  Ve  known  the  worst  .  .  . 


24  WOMENKIND 

And  you  Ve  your  little  lass. 

Thank  God,  it  's  not  a  son  .  .  . 

If  I  had  only  had  one  daughter  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

You  '11  have  a  daughter,  now. 
But  I  must  go,  before  she  comes. 
The  bride  comes  home  .  .  . 
Jim  brings  a  daughter  home  for  you. 

[As  she  speaks,  a  step  is  heard;  and  Ezra 
Barrasford  appears  in  the  doorway.  Turn- 
ing to  go,  Judith  meets  him.  She  tries  to 
pass  him;  but  he  clutches  her  arm;  and  she 
stands  as  if  dazed,  while  his  fingers  grope 
over  her.] 

Ezra: 

So,  Jim  's  got  back? 

I  never  heard  you  come,  lad. 

But,  I  am  growing  deaf. 

As  deaf  as  a  stone-wall. 

I  could  n't  hear  the  curlew,  not  a  note ; 

I  used  to  like  to  hear  them  .  .  . 

And  now,  I  '11  never  hear  them,  any  more. 

But,  I  forget  .  .  . 

You  're  welcome  home  .  .  . 

Is  this  the  bonnie  bride? 

You  're  welcome  home  to  Krindlesyke 

[feeling  her  face]. 


WOMENKIND  25 

Why,  wife,  it  's  Judith,  after  all ! 

I  knew 't  was  she  that  was  to  be  Jim's  bride. 

You  said  't  was  someone  else  .  .  . 

I  can't  remember  .  .  .  some  outlandish 

name. 
But,  I  was  right,  you  see. 
Though  I  be  dull,  at  times, 
And  deafer  than  an  adder, 
I  'm  not  so  dull  as  some  folks  think. 
There  's  others  growing  old,  as  well  as  I  .  .  . 
You  're  welcome  .  .  . 

[His  hand,  travelling  down  Judith's  shoul- 
der, touches  the  child.] 

Ah,  a  baby  I 

Jim's  child !    Jim's  child ! 

Come,  let  me  take  it,  daughter. 

I  've  never  had  a  grandchild  in  my  arms, 

Though  I  've  had  many  sons. 

They  've  all  been  wild,  but  Jim : 

And  Jim  's  the  last  one  left. 

Come,  I  '11  not  let  it  fall : 

I  've  always  had  a  way  with  babies, 

With  babies,  and  with  women. 

\Ile  snatches  the  child  from  Judith,  before 
she  realizes  what  he  is  after,  and  hobbles 
away  with  it  to  the  settle  beside  the  fire. 
Before  she  can  move  to  follow  him,  footsteps 
are  heard  on  the  threshold.] 


26  WOMENKIND 

Eliza  : 

Ah,  God,  they  're  at  the  door ! 

[As  she  speaks,  Jim  Barrasford,  and  Phoebe, 
his  bride,  enter,  talking  and  laughing.  Ju- 
dith Ellershaw  shrinks  into  the  shadow  be- 
hind the  door,  while  they  come  between  her 
and  the  high-backed  settle  on  which  Ezra  is 
sitting,  with  the  child,  out  of  sight.  Eliza 
stands  dazed,  in  the  middle  of  the  room.] 

Jim: 

Well  ...  so  that  's  over ! 
And  we  're  home,  at  last ! 
I  hope  the  tea  is  ready. 
I  'm  almost  famished,  mother- 
As  hungry  as  a  hawk. 
I  Ve  hardly  had  a  bite,  to-day : 
And  getting  married  's  hungry  work, 
As  Phoebe  knows  .  .  . 

But,  you  Ve  stopped  laughing,  now,  lass  .  .  . 
And  you  look  scared  .  .  . 
There  's  nothing  here  to  scare  you. 
Have  you  no  word  of  welcome,  mother, 
That  you  stand  like  a  stock,  and  gaping— 
And  gaping  like  a  foundered  ewe  ? 
I  '11  have  you  give  my  bride  the  greeting 
That  's  due  to  her,  my  bride  .  .  . 
Poor  lass,  she  's  all  atremble  .  .  . 
But,  we  '11  soon  see  who  's  mistress  1 


WOMENKIND  27 

ELIZA    [coming  forward]  : 

You  're  welcome,  daughter. 
May  you  .  .  . 

EZRA    [crooning,  unseen,  to  the  baby]  : 

"Sing  to  your  mammy ! 
Sing  to  your  daddy  I" 

Jim: 

What  ails  the  old  fool  now? 

You  must  not  heed  him,  Phoebe. 

He  is  simple ;  there  's  no  harm  in  him. 

[Going  towards  the  settle] 

Come,  dad,  and  stir  your  stumps  .  .  . 
Why,  mother,  what  is  this ! 
Whose  brat  .  .  . 

Ezra: 

Whose  brat !    Whose  brat ! 

And  who  should  know  but  he ! 

He  's  gay  .  .  .  he  's  gay! 

He  asks  whose  brat ! 

Maybe,  you  came  too  soon,  my  little  lass : 

But,  he  's  a  funny  daddy, 

To  ask  whose  brat !  [crooning] 

uSing  to  your  mammy  .  .  ." 

[Judith  Ellershaw  steps  forward  to  take  the 
child  from  Ezra.] 


28  WOMENKIND 

Jim: 

You !    Judith  Ellershaw ! 
Why,  lass  .  .  . 

[He  moves  to  meet  her;  but  stops  in  confu- 
sion. No  one  speaks,  as  Judith  takes  the 
child,  and  wraps  it  in  her  shawl.  She  is 
moving  towards  the  door,  when  Phoebe 
steps  before  her,  and  shuts  it:  then  turns 
and  faces  Judith.] 

Phcebe  : 

You  shall  not  go. 

Judith  : 

And  who  are  you  to  stay  me? 

Phcebe: 

I  ...  I  'm  Jim's  bride. 

Judith  : 

And  what  would  Jim's  bride  have  to  say 

to  me? 
Come,  let  me  pass. 

Phcebe  : 

You  shall  not  go. 

Judith  : 

Nay,  woman,  let  me  by ! 
You  do  not  know  me  for  the  thing  I  am. 
If  you  but  guessed,  you  'd  fling  the  door  wide 
open; 


WOMENKIND  29 

And  draw  your  skirts  about  you, 
Lest  any  rag  of  mine  should  smirch  them. 
I  'm  not  fit  company  for  fair  young  brides. 
I  never  should  have  come  'mid  decent  folk. 
You  little  know  .  .  . 

Phcebe  : 

I  heard  your  name  just  now  .  .  . 
And  I  have  heard  that  name  before. 

Judith  : 

You  Ve  heard  my  name  before ! 

I  wonder  .  .  .  but  you  heard  no  good  of  it, 

Who  ever  spoke  .  .  . 

Phcebe: 

I  heard  it  from  the  lips 
That  uttered  it  just  now. 

Judith  : 
From  Jim! 

Well  .  .  .  Jim  knows  what  I  am. 
I  wonder  that  he  lets  you  talk  with  me. 
Come,  woman,  I  must  go. 

Phcebe  : 

Not  till  I  know  the  name  of  your  child's 
father. 

Judith  : 

Nay !  you  've  no  right  to  ask  it. 


3o  WOMENKIND 

Phcebe  : 

Maybe  .  .  .  and  yet,  you  shall  not  cross  that 

step, 
Until  you  tell  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

Come,  woman,  don't  be  foolish. 

Phcebe  : 

You  say  that  I  Ve  no  right. 

Pray  God,  you  speak  the  truth. 

Yet,  there  may  be  no  woman  in  the  world 

Who  has  a  better  right. 

Judith  : 

Why,  lass :  you  'd  surely  never  heed 
An  old  man's  witless  babble ! 
A  poor,  old  crazy  .  .  . 

PHCEBE    \_still  facing  Judith]  : 

If  I  Ve  no  right,  you  will  not  have  the  heart 
To  keep  the  name  from  me. 
But  set  my  mind  at  ease. 

Judith  : 

I  will  not  have  the  heart ! 

If  it  will  set  your  mind  at  ease, 

I  '11  speak  my  shame  ... 

I  '11  speak  my  shame  right  out  .  .  . 

I  '11  speak  my  shame  right  out,  before  you  all. 


WOMENKIND  31 

Jim: 

But,  lass  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

I  would  not  have  a  bride  unhappy, 

Upon  her  wedding-day. 

The  father  of  my  child  was  William  Burn  .  .  . 

A  stranger  to  these  parts  .  .  . 

Now  ...  let  me  pass. 

[She  tries  to  slip  by,  but  Phoebe  does  not 
make  way  for  her.~\ 

Jim: 

Aye,  Phoebe :  let  her  go : 

Don't  be  too  hard  on  her: 

She  's  told  you  what  you  asked  .  .  . 

Though,  why  .  .  .  unless  .  .  . 

Yet,  I  don't  blame  the  lass. 

She  should  know  best. 

PHCEBE    [to  Judith,  looking  her  straight  in  the  eyes]  : 

You  lie! 

Judith  : 
Hie? 

Phcebe  : 

To-day,  I  wedded  your  child's  father. 

Eliza  : 
OGod! 


32  WOMENKIND 

Jim: 

Come,  lass,  I  say  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

No !  woman,  no ! 

I  spoke  the  truth. 

Have  I  not  shamed  myself  enough,  already, 

That  you  must  call  me  liar? 

[To  Eliza] 

Speak  out,  speak  out,  and  tell  .  .  . 

At  least,  you  know  me  well  enough 

To  tell  her  I  'm  no  liar. 

Speak  out,  if  you  're  not  tongue-tied: 

And  tell  her  all  you  know  .  .  . 

How  I'raa  byeword  among  honest  women, 

And  yet,  no  liar  .  .  .  Speak ! 

You  'd  tongue  enough  a  while  ago : 

And  have  you  none  to  answer  your  son's 

wife ; 
And  save  your  son  from  slander? 

ELIZA   [hesitatingly] : 

I  never  knew  the  lass  to  lie. 

[While  they  have  been  talking,  Ezra  has 
risen  from  the  settle,  unnoticed,  and  has 
hobbled  round  to  where  Phoebe  and  Judith 
are  standing.  He  suddenly  touches  Phoebe's 
arm.] 


WOMENKIND  33 

Ezra: 

Give  me  the  babe  again  .  .  . 
Nay!  this  is  not  the  lass  .  .  . 
I  want  Jim's  bride, 
The  mother  of  his  daughter. 
Come,  Judith,  lass,  where  are  you? 
I  want  to  nurse  my  grandchild, 
The  little  lass,  Jim's  little  lass. 

[While  he  is  speaking,  Judith  tries  to  slip 
past  Phoebe;  but  Ezra  clutches  hold  of  her: 
and  Phoebe  sets  her  back  against  the  door. 
Eliza  goes  up  to  Ezra;  and  takes  him  by 
the  arm;  and  leads  him,  mutteringly,  back 
to  the  settle.] 

Eliza  : 

Come,  Ezra,  hold  your  foolish  tongue. 
You  don't  know  what  you  're  saying  .  .  . 

Jim: 

If  he  don't  hold  his  tongue,  I  '11  .  .  . 

JUDITH    [to  Phoebe]  : 

And  will  you  weigh  an  old  man's  witlessness 

Against  my  word? 

O  woman,  pay  no  heed  to  idle  tongues, 

If  you  would  keep  your  happiness ! 

PHCEBE    [looking  her  in  the  face]  : 

But,  even  while  the  tongue  is  lying, 
The  eyes  speak  out  the  truth. 


34  WOMENKIND 

Judith  : 
The  eyes ! 

Then,  you  will  pay  no  heed  to  me ; 
But  let  a  dothering  old  man 
Destroy  your  life  with  idle  chatter. 
You  know  my  worth ! 
Yet,  if  you  care  for  Jim, 
You  '11  trust  his  word. 
If  Jim  denies  the  child, 
Then,  you  '11  believe  .  .  . 
You  would  not  doubt  your  husband's  word, 
And  on  your  wedding-day  .   .   . 
Small  wonder  you  doubt  mine : 
You  Ve  got  good  reason  .  .  . 
But,  Jim  's  not  my  sort :  he  's  an  honest  lad : 
And  he  '11  speak  true  .  .  . 
If  Jim  denies  the  child  .  .  . 

Phcebe  : 

If  Jim  can  look  me  in  the  eyes  .  .  . 

Judith  : 

Speak,  Jim,  and  set  her  mind  at  ease. 
Don't  spare  me,  Jim ;  but  tell  her  all : 
For  she  's  your  wife ;  and  has  a  right  to  know 
The  child  's  no  child  of  yours. 

[Jim  stands,  hesitating.'] 

Come,  lad,  speak  out ! 


WOMENKIND  35 

And  don't  stand  gaping  there. 
You  know,  as  well  as  I,  the  child  .  .  . 
Speak!  speak! 
Have  you  no  tongue  ? 

\He  still  hesitates.] 

Don't  think  of  me  .  .  . 

You  Ve  naught  to  fear  from  me. 

Tell  all  you  know  of  me  right  out  .  .  . 

No  word  of  yours  can  hurt  me  .  .  . 

I  'm  shameless,  now  .  .  . 

You  know,  my  father  turned  me  out  .  .  . 

[Jim  still  hesitates.] 

Speak  lad !    Your  wife  is  waiting. 

If  you  don't  tell  the  truth,  and  quickly, 

You  '11  have  a  merry  life  of  it,  I  '11  warrant! 

I  would  not  be  in  your  shoes  .  .  . 

See,  how  she  's  badgered  me : 

And  all  because  .  .  . 

Come,  be  a  man !  and  speak ! 

Jim: 

The  brat  's  no  child  of  mine  .  .  . 
Phoebe,  I  swear  .  .  . 

[He  stops  in  confusion,  and  drops  his  eyes. 
After  a  pause,  Phoebe  turns  from  him;  and 
lays  one  hand  on  the  latch,  and  the  other  on 
Judith's  arm.] 


36  WOMENKIND 

Phoebe  [to  Judith] : 

Come,  lass,  it  's  time  that  we  were  getting 
home. 

JUDITH   [starting  back] : 

That  we  ? 

Phcebe  : 

Unless  you  wish  to  stay? 

Judith  : 

I  stay?  .  .  .  You  mean  .  .  . 

0  God,  what  have  I  done ! 

That  I  had  never  crossed  this  door ! 

ELIZA    [to  Phoebe] : 

You  're  never  going,  woman ! 
You  're  his  wife  .  .  . 
You  cannot  leave  him  .  .  . 

Jim: 

Leave !    Leave  me !    She  's  mad ! 

1  never  heard  .  .  .  and  on  my  wedding-day ! 
But,  I  'm  your  husband : 

And  I  bid  you  bide. 

Phcebe  : 

Oh  Jim,  if  you  had  only  told  the  truth  .  .  . 
I  might  .  .  . 
God  knows  .  .  . 
For  I  was  fond  .  .  . 


WOMENKIND  37 

Jim: 

Aye !  now,  you  're  talking  sense. 
It  's  well  to  let  a  woman  know  who  's  master. 
And  what  's  the  odds,  lass,  even  if  the 
brat  .  .  . 

Phoebe  [to  Judith] : 

Come,  Judith,  are  you  ready? 

It  's  time  that  we  were  getting  home. 

Judith  : 

Home  ?    I  've  no  home  .  .  . 
I  Ve  long  been  homeless. 

Phcebe  : 

That  much  he  told  me  of  you : 

He  spoke  the  truth,  so  far. 

Thank  God,  he  could  not  rob  me  of  my 

home! 
My  mother  will  be  glad  to  have  me  back : 
And  she  will  welcome  you, 
If  only  for  your  baby's  sake. 
She  's  just  a  child,  to  children. 
We  're  poor;  and  labour  hard  for  all  we 

have. 
There  's  but  two  rooms : 
So  we  must  lie  together, 
Unless  you  are  too  proud  .  .  . 


38  WOMENKIND 

Nay,  lass :  I  see  you  '11  come  with  me : 
And  we  will  live,  and  work,  and  tend  the 

child, 
As  sisters,  we  who  care  .  .  . 
Come,  Judith ! 

[She  flings  the  door  wide;  and  goes  out, 
without  looking  back.  Jim  steps  forward 
to  stay  her,  but  halts  in  the  doorway,  and 
stands  staring  after  her.~\ 

Jim: 

Nay,  lass !  I  bid  you  stay  .  .  . 

I  bid  ...  I  bid  ...   " 

The  blasted  wench !    She  's  gone ! 

[He  stands  speechless;  but  at  last,  turns  to 
Judith,  who  is  still  gazing  after  Phoebe 
with  an  unrealising  stare.] 

Well  .  .  .  you  will  not  forsake  me,  Judith? 
Old  friends  are  best  .  .  . 
And  I  ...  I  always  liked  you. 
And  so,  this  is  my  baby ! 
Who  'd  have  thought  .  .  . 

[Judith  starts:  clutches  her  baby  to  her 
breast,  and  slips  past  him.~\ 

Judith  [calling]: 

I  'm  coming,  Phoebe  .  .   . 
Coming  home  with  you  .  .  . 


WOM^NKINP  39 

[Jim  stands  in  the  doorway,  staring  after 
her  dumbfoundedj  till  they  are  both  out  of 
sight:  when  he  turns;  and  slams  the  door 
to.-\ 

Jim: 

I  Ve  done  with  women ; 
They  're  a  faithless  lot. 

Ezra: 

Aye :  womenkind  are  all  the  same : 
I  Ve  ever  found  them  faithless. 
But,  where  's  your  baby,  Jim, 
Your  little  lass  ? 

Jim: 

They  Ve  taken  even  her  from  me. 

[Eliza,  who  has  been  filling  the  teapot,  takes 
Ezra  by  the  arm,  and  leads  him  to  a  seat  at 
the  table.] 

Eliza  : 

Come,  husband,  take  your  tea,  before  it 's 

cold: 
And  you,  too,  son. 
Aye :  we  Ve  a  faithless  lot. 


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